


Bonjour à Nouveau

by orphan_account



Series: White Collar [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/F, F/M, Gen, Paris (City), White Collar Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-finale continuation fic</p><p>Paris is in an uproar over the fact that the Mona Lisa 'may or may not' be stolen. Interpol calls the best white collar teams from around the world to France, Peter Burke's team at the top of the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonjour à Nouveau

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I wanted everyone from the show... in Paris (Diana is back too because Diana). Woohoo! I decided to add my own continuation into the mix, because there can never be enough White Collar and Neal Caffrey. I kind of want to set it up like the show, so each chapter will be like an 'episode.' I did some math and it takes an average person about 40 minutes to read ~15000 words, so each chapter will be around there. Also, I'm setting it up in seasons so this 'season' will be 13 chapters. Whether or not it ends up back in New York with the anklet... we'll have to see. Okay, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!
> 
> PS- I do not own the lyrics for Imagine Dragon's 'Gold,' nor do I own 'White Collar' or any of its characters.

S07E01: King Midas

* * *

Black gloves were pulled over pale, slender hands, and a charming smile flashed into the night as the man dressed in dark, fitted clothing examined the museum before him. As daunting as it looked, the security really wasn’t very great. The city of love believed the Louvre was the grand prize, so why would a small museum with modest Renaissance paintings need any real security? The smile grew larger as the black gloved fingertips fit earbuds into perfectly rounded ears, then flicked over the small device to turn it on. Footsteps were light as an average molded key was fit into the door and the lithe, graceful man slid in with a small breath. Sky blue eyes flickered this way and that, before the shape drew in another breath and spread his arms like a dancer, one finger coming down on the ‘play’ button of the device.

“Your Imagine Dragons obsession is getting out of hand, Moz.”

The amused voice didn’t cut through the silence, it simply drifted into it and fell away like snow. Then, as a mournful voice began drifting into the man’s ears, he began to dance, weaving in and out of places as if there were invisible laser lines that would set off an alarm.

 

_First comes the blessing of all that you dreamed_

_But then comes the curses of diamonds and rings_

Gloved hands removed glass and seemed to caress the painting, so light and soft that anyone watching would be too entranced by those hands to notice the flakes of old paint drifting lazily into scrupulously cleaned jars. The only thing that seemed out of place was the white of a shark’s smile dancing before a painting that had known nothing but gentle curiosity.

_Only at first did it have its appeal_

_But now you can’t tell the false from the real_

 

The papers the next morning didn’t have a single word on the fact that the museum curator had found his doors left unlocked, despite being sure he’d locked them; nothing had been stolen so what did it matter? The incident wasn’t reported, but the charming man who’d spoken with the museum curator in a French accent that was just slightly off mentioned that he had a locksmith friend who may be interested in the story. When the curator had inquired as to when the locksmith friend would come, the blue-eyed gentleman had simply laughed and sauntered away.

 

_Who can you trust?_

_Who can you trust?_

 

The moon of the next night was the only thing to see the man remove a pane of loose glass from a different small Renaissance museum and slip in unnoticed. The security guard hummed loudly and off key, but it was a different tune than the one the dark haired villain danced winningly too, stifling a laugh at the simplicity of his task. His shoes were as silent as the breath of wind that pulled curiously at his clothes and bag, but it was just as unsuccessful at finding the old flakes of painting he’d taken as the baffled curator.

 

_When everything, everything, everything you touch turns to gold, gold, gold_

The next couple of nights were the same, but a week later the clouds obscuring the moon observed something different. The mystery thief stole into a church and moved through it with a startling purpose, sweet talking the old priest into showing him a treasure that was priceless. Holy water blessed by an old pope, taken all the way from a 15th century Italian church. Incredible. The priest left the stranger to observe while he dealt with the short, bald-headed man who had walked in, wailing about being assaulted. The blood was obviously fake, but the priest was more concerned about the bespectacled man’s mental health. It was interesting to note that when he came back, the handsome youthful man had disappeared and the holy water looked just a tad clearer. Oh well; think nothing of it.

 

_Everything, everything, everything you touch turns to gold, gold_

 

A man who dealt in beautiful, antique poplar wood was outraged when his most prized piece, a gorgeous, sleek thing cut for an artist in the later years of the 14th century, was stolen. He made a huge fuss, but he the small column he got in the paper was only in thanks to a sympathetic art lover who understood just how valuable the piece was. The smile and warm blue eyes calmed him while the young man had spoken of the fact that an older man, an law enforcement friend of his, would drop by soon enough to ask about it.

 

_Gold_

_Gold_

_Gold_

_Gold_

A larger story caught the attention of the press; a beautiful young heiress’s elderly husband passed away, and she received a sizeable sum of money, along with his private painting collection. It wasn’t his death or her money that sent the press into a frenzy, though. It was the doting young art enthusiast she’d taken on her arm, whom she became so infatuated with that she had no qualms about giving him the entire 18th century portion of the paintings. How could a woman fall in love so fast? The press fussed about it, but it died eventually after the two had a falling out, the only reminder of the fact that it happened being a slightly fuzzy photo of her lover. The charmer with the devilish blue eyes and wicked smirk.

 

_Statues and empires are all at your hands_

_Water to wine and the finest of sands_

“Why the wine?”

The smaller, portly man who had trailed behind the beautiful, slim one now stood with his arms crossed, a confused eyebrow raised. Strong, sure hands poured a 14th century Italian drink into two gorgeous, antique wineglasses. Cerulean flickered up and the trademark smile played with the thief’s mouth as he set the bottle down and handed one of the glasses to the same man who’d made the assault fuss in the church.

“Celebration, Moz. Besides, I’d like to get into our favourite artist’s mind for this one. Humour me.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t suggesting we shouldn’t drink it, I was just curious. I really don’t need a reason to drink any wine, especially one of such elegance and finesse. It only has a bit of a bite to it, but it’s still like a fine lady. Perhaps a better comparison would be a fine lady with no eyebrows?”

 

_When all that you have is turnin’ stale and it’s cold_

_Oh, you no longer fear when your heart’s turned to gold_

 

The brushstrokes were light but sure, every one using just the right amount of pressure and paint to create a breathtaking portrait. The artist’s eyes danced back and forth between the small picture he was recreating and his masterpiece. His masterpiece was demure, sly, with her hands folded just so in her lap. Every brush stroke brought out more and more of the piece. The artist’s eyes widened slightly in respect for himself, and he leaned back to take another sip of the fruity, dark wine.

 

_Who can you trust?_

_Who can you trust?_

 

She was finished, gorgeous, sleek, and new in a glory of fresh paint. The artist’s teeth captured his bottom lip as he drew out another brush and a fresh set of paint, beginning some miniscule amount of work around her elbow with a colour that was very slightly different from the rest. The bottle of wine was half gone, the majority of it having been drunk by the grinning accomplice, who kept shaking his head in appreciation for his friend’s craft.

 

_When everything, everything, everything you touch turns to gold, gold, gold_

 

When the artist was finally satisfied with his work, he nodded seriously and turned to his accomplice who held out a strange looking tray. The two of them worked devil’s magic as they slid the painting into an odd looking oven, playing with the temperature and watching. Every few minutes, they’d pull the painting out, glance at each other, and silently agree it wasn’t ready yet.

 

_Everything, everything, everything you touch turns to gold, gold_

 

When it was finished, the two men drank the last of the wine and laughed like fools, marvelling at the way this incredible thing they’d made turned out.

 

_Gold_

_Gold_

_Gold_

_Gold_

 

The next day saw the criminal and the refined man. A suit edged with golden thread, worth more than an average man’s car, shoes that hadn’t seen a dirty street since they’d been bought, and a smile that a hard day of work had yet to diminish.

 

_I’m dying to feel again_

_Oh, anything at all_

 

The criminal was dressed in black, garbed with clothes that were grimier than dirt. He blended in with the rough and tumble crowd, head bowed as the mournful song that had been playing since the beginning blared through cheap headphones. On his back was a strange cylindrical tube which no one paid half a mind to. Better to let criminals be caught by the police. It wouldn’t do to get involved with them. A snicker that set the bad toupee shaking said he doubted the police could do anything about this one.

 

_But, oh, I feel nothing, nothing, nothing,_

_Nothing_

The well-dressed man passed the grimy one on the street, not even giving him a glance as he went into the huge, expensive museum that screamed luxury and class. It wasn’t like it was a place a slime ball like the criminal could simply walk into. In that regard, the two were as far from similar as possible, so why interact? A kid behind the criminal smiled when he thought the thumbs up the refined man gave was directed at him.

 

_When everything, everything_

_Everything you touch turns to gold, gold, gold_

 

That night there was a tiny incident within the expansive, towering, palace-like place. Something that had the potential to make news, but ended up meaningless because it was dealt with in an easy, well-mannered fashion. A simple trifle that would only change the life of the security guard because of the money he got out of it.

 

_Everything, everything_

_Everything you touch turns to gold, gold_

 

Things were quiet for the next few months, nothing noteworthy happening other than a respected art authenticator quitting his job for family reasons. Taking care of his mentally ill brother, as it were. No one paid too much attention; there was only a few people who bid him rather sad farewells, as they’d come to like friendliness the warm blue eyes held.

 

_Gold_

_Gold_

_Gold_

_Gold_

 

Six months later, the story started in a tabloid, but it quickly grew until frantic questions were being thrown all around the city of love. Within a week, Paris’s top newspaper was being read by two master con artists in a small coffee shop they both frequented: “ _Mona Lisa: Stolen or Not_?” Neal Caffrey and Teddy Winters looked at each other, back at the paper, back at each other again. Then they both laughed as Neal threw some money on the table and scooped up his trademark fedora, setting it snugly on his head as the two walked out onto the winding, twisted cobblestone street.

**ღ*~*** **ღ*~*** **ღ**

“Morning, hon.”

Peter yawned as El pressed a hot cup of coffee into his hand, shaking her head with a smile as she couched a little to straighten his tie.

“Breakfast is on the table, Neal’s looked after, and I took your suits to the dry cleaners yesterday. You’re welcome.”

She leaned up to press a kiss on his cheek as he gave her a winsome grin, shaking his head in admiration.

“What would I do without you?”

El sat down at the table and started feeding Neal, pretending the baby food was a plane in order to get him to eat. Neal could be troublesome sometimes, but El was always knew how to deal with him even when Peter didn’t. El spoke in a high, laughing voice to keep Neal eating as she answered Peter.

“You would never eat, forget about Neal, and show up to work in stained clothes that would stink so much you’d get fired.”

Peter laughed, shaking his head as he took a seat in his chair, his stomach growling appreciatively at the large breakfast El had cooked. Bacon, eggs, and toast with his favourite mug and best brand of coffee. Everything was absolutely perfect. Well, everything except for one tiny, morning routine. He made silly faces at Neal and the boy laughed happily, food falling out of his mouth, which earned a mock glare from El. He kept making them anyway as he spoke to El, one eyebrow slightly quirked.

“Big breakfast, everything taken care of, no huge rush… With only one thing missing. Am I reading the situation right, hon?”

El gave up trying to feed Neal and wiped her son’s face, biting her lip in that cute way she did when she was extremely excited about something but wanted to hide it. The only problem with her was that, unlike their son’s namesake, when she was excited she wasn’t good at lying about it.

“It may not be him, so I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but…”

El trailed off, watching as baby Neal gurgled happily, then she jumped up and ran to the counter, grabbing the newspaper off of it. Peter had given up reading the local newspaper lately because he found it dull and there was nothing interesting he wouldn’t see at work. But giving up the local newspaper didn’t mean he gave up on newspapers altogether. In fact, his interest in newspapers had grown. He now ordered a more… foreign newspaper, which he skimmed obsessively every morning. He always received it a day late because of where it was coming from, but it didn’t matter. Whether it was yesterday or today’s news, Paris was interesting.

“I know you, hon. If you say it may not be him, it has to be.”

Peter obligingly took the newspaper from his wife’s hands as she leaned over his shoulder, her eyes switching from the paper to Peter’s face, then her smile growing huge as Peter’s eyes widened slightly and he set down the coffee he’d just been about to drink from.

“The Mona… This is… El, this is… Christ, he’s back. This is him, hon, I know it, it’s him!”

El bit her lip and nodded, hugging Peter from behind as Peter clutched the newspaper and started reading the details. The more he read, the more incredulous his face got, and by the end he was laughing and shaking his head.

“Neal, you sly dog. I don’t know how you did it, but I _know_ it was you.”

The smile that came over Peter’s face was one El recognized, but it was never one that had been directed at her. Or anyone else Peter knew for that matter. That smile was the one specially reserved for Neal Caffrey, and it said a hundred words so that Peter didn’t even need to speak for El to sense what he was going to say. It made her a little sad, to see his ‘the chase is on’ smile again, but she knew Neal was something Peter needed in his life. He’d always had a side that craved a little mischief.

“Now, hon, before you get ahead of yourself, I’ve already booked three one-way tickets to Paris and contacted a woman I’ve done conference calls with for the business. She’s always wanted to try catering in New York, and I’ve always wanted to try a house swap, so…”

Peter dropped the newspaper and stood up, turning around, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled with ten different things to say. El wrapped her arms around the back of his head and tugged him down to plant a silencing kiss on his lips, answering everything he’d wanted to know in one sentence.

“Yes, I’ll still be working. Yes, I’ve got someone to look after Neal—the woman has a daughter who lives in the house and has agreed to work as a nanny. Yes, I’ve thought this through. No, I haven’t contacted your work, but hon, you’re Peter Burke. Your team brought down the Panthers. I’m sure you can get some wiggle room. And hon… you have six months. That’s as long as our deal lasts, so you have six months to find Neal and bring him home. Do you think you can do it?”

Peter’s chuckle was enough to assure El he was still confident in his Neal-Caffrey-catching-abilities. Since she’d answered his questions and there was really nothing else to say on the matter, he pulled her in for a long, deep, appreciative kiss. So appreciative she had to laugh and clear her throat, nodding to the baby who watched his parents with huge, guileless blue eyes. Peter stepped back with a nod, leaning over to ruffle his son’s fluff of ever-growing hair gently.

“I feel like no matter how many times I say it, I’ll never be able to say ‘I love you’ enough.”

Despite Peter’s teasing comment, he really was happy El was so candid about them all going to Paris. If she wasn’t, it would be a struggle. Even though he knew she’d let him go, it felt wrong to leave his wife and son for months. He didn’t want to be the father that was never around. Look how Neal Caffrey had turned out without a father.

“That’s true, but you should still keep saying it anyway.”

“Elizabeth Burke, I love you.”

Peter pulled her in one last time, this time for a chaste kiss, before releasing her and turning to plant a kiss on his son’s head. Neal was one of the happiest babies Peter had ever seen, and it scared him in a way that made him laugh. With El’s beautiful eyes and Peter’s strong, sturdy features, the kid was all set to be a charming heartbreaker when he was older. Hopefully not as charming and heartbreaking as the man he was named after.

“We leave next week, so make sure you have everything in order at work. Bye, hon!”

Peter returned the farewell warmly, then shut the front door firmly and headed to work.

**ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

“So boss, you got those tickets to Paris yet?”

“Paris?”

Diana’s eager voice was the first thing to greet Peter as he stepped out of the elevator, the next being every head in the room turning towards him. Peter practically hid behind his coffee cup as he made his way to his office with Diana following close behind, wondering what everyone knew. They couldn’t know Neal was alive, right? And yet they all seemed like they completely expected him to uproot his life and go to Paris, for no good reason… Oh.

“Yes, Paris. They don’t even know if the Mona Lisa was stolen or not—people are still arguing. Obviously they have some good agents in white collar over there, but we’re the best team there is. No arguments about that after we caught the Panthers.”

As Peter sat down heavily at his desk, Jones barged in next, his face holding an almost boyish excitement.

“Is it true the white collar division in France asked _us_ to help with the Mona Lisa?”

Peter wished he’d filled his coffee cup up before sitting down, because his mind wasn’t really on tasks at work. Even though everyone was talking about Paris, all he kept wondering about was how Neal had done it. Because it had undoubtedly been Neal.

“Damn straight they asked us. They contacted the best from around the world, five different teams, and we were first on their list. This is art theft on a national level, and the bastard that did it must be good.”

Peter rubbed his temples; this was the first he’d heard of it. But Diana seemed convinced it was well deserved, and judging by the way Jones’ face lit up, he was convinced they were going. Peter didn’t bother answering yet; he turned on his computer and checked his emails. Sure enough, near the top, there was one about the Mona Lisa. Now he definitely wished he’d grabbed another cup of coffee; the email was brusque, almost rude, and no one had bothered to call him about it. But apparently his best team was needed in Paris, and New York would have to do with some replacement agents for as long as it took.

“Yes, it’s true. We’re going to Paris.”

Jones let out a whoop and Diana grinned in satisfaction, nodding and shooting Jones an ‘I told you’ look. It was great that he’d get to bring his team along, but the fact that the five best teams in the world would all be hunting Neal Caffrey was worrying. Not because Peter thought they’d catch him, but only because it made his job that much harder. How do you catch a criminal without catching the man? And how was he supposed to explain to his team that Neal was still alive? He didn’t even know if he could. The whole thing was giving him a headache. He felt a vibration in his pocket and he pulled out his phone, turning to shoo Diana and Jones away.

“You two are leaving in two weeks with tickets and lodging provided for. I’ll be leaving in one and staying somewhere else. We’ll talk about it later.”

Jones looked surprised and Diana looked affronted about the fact that Peter had already bought tickets. Before either of them could say anything, though, he answered his phone and stood up to usher them out the door, shutting it behind them.

“Special Agent Burke.”

He answered formally, not sure who was calling because he hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID. Oh well; if it was El, she’d just make some joking comment about how sexy her FBI husband was. But the voice on the other end surprised him; he’d heard it often enough, but not for a couple of months.

“Oh, it _is_ the right number! I thought so! I found this in Neal’s old things.”

Peter drew in a breath, wondering why she was calling now of all times. Of course, he shouldn’t have been surprised; she was always on the ball when it came to conmen. Out of everyone Neal had fooled, Peter had the feeling she was the one person who hadn’t truly believed the man was dead, even for a moment.

“Hi, June. It’s nice to hear from you.”

Before she even spoke, Peter had the feeling he knew what she was going to say. He wondered briefly if maybe Neal had told her everything, but there was no point in wondering because the woman’s lips kept secrets better than the pentagon.

“It’s nice to hear your voice, Agent Burke. Now, I know you’re busy, so I’ll make it short and sweet. Byron has a summer villa down in Paris that he bought for us. He wanted to do something sweet, and it’s the city of love after all. Anyway, I’ve heard through the grapevine you might be planning to go, and I was just wondering where you bought your tickets. You know, since it’s nice this time of year and I’d like to do some travelling.”

Peter closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. She was way too sharp for her own good. He knew she knew perfectly well how to get good tickets—and it wouldn’t be a problem with her money—but she was giving him a courtesy call to let him know he’d be seeing her around. Typical of a conman. June spent so much time around conmen she was more or less one herself.

“I see… Yes, well, I bought mine online. There’s a good website called—”

“Thank you, Agent Burke! I’ll keep it in mind! If you’re ever in the area, you should drop by the villa. It’s right near the Louvre.”

Just what had Byron been planning to do, anyway? For a brief moment, Peter toyed with the idea that June had leant the villa to Neal and that was where the young con artist was staying. But that would be way too obvious and June obviously wouldn’t let him know about the villa beforehand. Whatever she was planning, she was just moving pieces into place. Unless she was bluffing and Neal was there. Or double bluffing. Or triple. Or… Peter would check out the villa just in case, before the conundrum drove him mad.

“I’ll do that, then. Thank you, June. Bye now.”

He hung up, shaking his head and glancing at his watch. It had only been ten minutes since he’d arrived, and his day already felt full enough to be over. He just wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with El and baby Neal. Then sleep for the next week, until it was time to go to Paris. Much as he hated to admit it, Neal Caffrey made his days infinitely shorter. He was so busy watching the charming conman for any signs of betrayal that he didn’t even notice as time flew by. All part of the game.

He spent the rest of his day emailing people, sorting out the entire Paris thing. Trips, flight times, boarding, what they’d be doing when they got there. He was too busy with paper work to even think about dealing with the white collar crimes that sat in a relatively short stack on his desk. They were all meaningless, petty cases anyway. He had faith in the rest of his team to keep everything sorted while he was gone. If there was one good thing that was coming out of all this, it was the fact that Hughes would be coming out of retirement briefly to take over. With so many teams going to Paris, they needed everyone they could get, retired or not.

At the end of the day, he was a hundred times more tired than he would’ve been if he’d been on an interesting, exciting chase. Paper work took a lot out of a guy. He glanced up at the clock. 4:50. In ten minutes, he’d go back to his beautiful wife and son, two of three best things in his life. Just as he started packing up the paper work he had left, his phone went off again. He let out a sigh and checked it, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully at the name. Now there’s a name he hadn’t expected to see, but then, there were a lot of people whose lives had been messed with by Neal.

“Sara Ellis. You couldn’t possibly be calling because you’ve heard about the Mona Lisa, right?”

There was a quiet exhale on the other end, then:

“It’s him, isn’t it? He isn’t really dead.”

Peter could’ve lied. He heard the uncertainty in her voice, the nervous hopefulness accompanied by the crushing weight that came with the hope. Neal must’ve had his reasons for letting everyone believe he was dead, but Peter couldn’t see them the way he saw most of Neal’s other reasons. Although Neal waltzed carelessly through life claiming Peter was his one and only normal friend, there were a lot of people who walked the straight and narrow path that had been broken over Neal’s ‘death.’ Sara was one of them. Which is why Peter Burke decided to do the thing he did best; he told the truth.

“Yes. There’s not a doubt in my mind that it’s him.”

There was a hitch in Sara’s breath and Peter wondered if she was crying because she was happy or because she was sad. Maybe both—Neal Caffrey and his way of easily slipping out of people’s lives had that effect.

“Thank you, Peter. I couldn’t believe he was dead, and now… well…”

Peter nodded understandingly. The long months he’d spent thinking his former CI was dead had been hard, even with the birth of his son. He’d gone through the entire grieving process, but the one thing he hadn’t been able to get rid of was the clawing, nagging guilt that he could’ve stopped it. He wondered if Sara had felt the same, if she had wondered if she could’ve prevented it by staying. Knowing Neal was alive… well, it was liberating. And infuriating. But still, he made a much better target for anger while he was still breathing.

“Are you going to Paris?”

A long pause on the other end and Peter understood the question he’d asked was one Sara had been asking herself.

“In the end, I chose not to be with him. It’s not right for me to uproot my entire life just because I thought he was dead. I made a decision and I’m sticking to it. But… when you find him, Peter, can you get him to call me? I have a few choice words for that lying, manipulative son of a—well, I’d like to speak to him. It would be nice to hear his voice, too, though don’t tell him I said that.”

Peter laughed; it was good to know Neal’s ‘death’ hadn’t taken the feistiness out of his old lover. Peter honestly thought Neal and Sara would make a fantastic couple, because Sara was the one woman who never fully depended on Neal, and that made her strong against his charming, sneaky ways. Plus, she would definitely keep him in line. But there was no use saying all of that when she’d already decided, so he kept it to himself.

“Will do.”

He couldn’t help but appreciate the confident way she’d said ‘ _when_ you find him’ too. If Peter considered Neal Caffrey a son, he would’ve been happy to have Sara Ellis as a ‘daughter-in-law.’ Damn Neal and his ways of messing things up.

“Thanks, Peter. Look, I know I’m the last person who should say this, but just… don’t give up on him, okay? Even though he’s still doing his thing, I honestly believe the one person who can change him is you.”

Peter had heard it time and time again from everyone, but he wondered if it was really true. When he’d thought Neal was dead, he’d thought long and hard about whether or not he’d ‘changed’ Neal, and he’d ultimately decided the fact that he enjoyed the chase only made Neal enjoy the life more. Still…

“I can’t take the man out of the con, but maybe I can take the con out of the man. I mean, Neal will always be Neal, but I’ll try my best to make sure he plays it safe.”

Peter doubted the fact that he’d ever be able to make Neal truly walk the straight and narrow, but now his goal was a little different. Rather than getting Neal to become completely straight right off the bat, he’d settle with trying to get Neal out of the most dangerous parts of the life. If Neal would just put in a little effort, he had the potential to become the best FBI agent the world had ever seen, and Peter was willing to let it happen. No anklet, just a badge and the leeway to bend the rules just so. Sometimes you had to bend the rules a little to catch the man.

“That’s better than anyone else can do. I’ll see you around, Peter. I won’t take time off to fly out to Paris now, but I have holidays coming up. I’ve always wanted to see the Louvre…”

She was still heavily debating, and probably would be until the time came. Well, whatever she chose, it was good to know Peter had managed to help mend one broken heart Neal had left behind.

“Whatever you decide, I’ll probably end up seeing you anyway. It’s a small world.”

“That it is. Bye, Peter.”

“Bye.”

Peter hung up and checked the clock. 5:00. Time to go. He grabbed his things, double checking to make sure he had everything, and left. Through the office where men and women who had the same work ethic he’d had a couple years ago still worked, down the elevator where he nodded to a friendly pizza guy, out to the car. He got in and sat down, humming under his breath; after this week, life would be perfect.

“Don’t scream.”

Now, when a man heard ‘don’t scream’ come from the back of his car, his first instinct was usually to yell out, maybe open the door and run or turn around slowly and wince at a gun to the face. But Peter recognized the voice, and when he turned there was no gun, only a pretty brunette with a mischievous mouth and intense eyes. Great. Now the modern day Catwoman was in his car, her arms crossed and her face guarded.

“Before you ask, yes, Alex, Neal is alive. And yes, I’m going to Paris to find him before the other people hunting for the Mona Lisa do.”

Alex blinked, then tossed her head back haughtily with a shrug.

“I knew Neal was alive, and I know he stole the Mona Lisa. I just wanted to see if you were going after him.”

For a second Peter wondered if Neal himself had sent Alex—they were kind of con buddies in a strange way (probably more than ‘con’ buddies) and it wouldn’t be all that surprising for Neal to send him a message. But when he looked closer and saw the bags under her eyes and the way her fingers tapped her arm nervously, he realized she probably hadn’t even known Neal was alive.

“Are _you_ going after him?”

Peter kept his voice light. The woman conned the heck out of everyone, so when she looked like _that_ , she must be going through an extremely tough time. Peter couldn’t really remember a day when Neal’s eyes had held bags under them or he’d looked truly upset, even in the months after Kate died. That was another thing he’d have to work on when he found Neal; getting the clammed up art forger to open up more.

“I don’t talk to Feds.”

Alex’s voice was abrupt and she got out of the car, leaving without another word. Peter shook his head in exasperation. If she didn’t talk to Feds, why had she even come in the first place? She must’ve been really worried over the fact that Neal may or may not have been dead. Thinking about it, Peter wondered just how crazy they all were. Even him and El. The Mona Lisa was stolen and everyone who really knew Neal automatically assumed it was him, without seeing the contents of the box Peter had seen. But really, with the Panthers in prison and the best white collar criminals too nervous to do anything really big since the Panthers were jailed, who else would be arrogant enough?

Peter let out a sigh. Doubting himself would get him nowhere. Besides, this MO was undoubtedly Neal. There would be other things Neal would’ve left behind, a trail for Peter to find. One that _only_ Peter could find. There had to be.

**ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

When Peter got home, El was waiting with dinner already on the table. She smiled as Peter planted a kiss on her cheek and sat down heavily in his chair, his face only softening when he looked at his giggling son.

“Bad day at work?”

El started eating while Peter tried—rather unsuccessfully—to feed baby Neal. The plane thing never seemed to work for him, so he gave up and tried to tell Neal to eat sternly. The baby only giggled again.

“The usual. Neal’s girlfriends all asking me about him. He does one thing all the way off in Paris and suddenly the entire day is about him. You know how it is. It’s Neal.”

El pulled her chair up beside their son’s and took the spoon from Peter. When she brought it to Neal’s mouth, he obediently opened up and ate with no qualms. Peter just shook his head, wondering if somehow his CI was even manipulating his son.

“Soon enough you’ll see him again. Even though he hasn’t sent anything besides that bottle you told me about, I’m sure he misses you too.”

Peter shovelled more of El’s savoury steak into his mouth, grumbling around it about he didn’t really miss Neal. That earned him a smirk from El, because they both knew that was completely untrue. He missed Neal like hell, and despite his gruff exterior, he really was excited to see the kid.

“I don’t know about that. He’s probably living a grand life in Paris, making all the cash he wants and sleeping with hundreds of women. I feel like he’ll never mature.”

Baby Neal blew bubbles with his spit and El laughed, wiping at his mouth. But soon enough, the baby’s eyes began drifting, and he fell asleep still sitting in his chair. El brought him upstairs to put him to bed with Peter behind her to kiss their son goodnight. When they were done, they both went downstairs and settled on the couch, Peter turning on the game while El curled up and lay her head on his shoulder. She had been pretty quiet after supper, but Peter knew that she’d talk when she was ready. Finally, during a break in the game, El spoke.

“Hon, you know King Midas?”

Peter’s brow furrowed as he thought. The name rang a bell.

“Yeah. He was in some fairy tale. Everything he touched turned into gold, and in the end it was more of a curse because he couldn’t eat anything because it all turned to gold.”

“Right.”

Peter grabbed the remote and turned down the volume a bit, wondering where El was going with this.

“I read the story to Neal today and I was just thinking… do you think Neal’s actually happy? Big Neal, I mean, conman Neal.”

Peter set the remote down, thinking about how bright Neal Caffrey’s smile always was. He remembered one conversation with Mozzie shortly after Kate’s death, the one about how the more Neal was hurt, the brighter he smiled. Neal’s smiles had always been awfully bright.

“I don’t know, El. He cons everyone into thinking he is, but he’s been through a lot. After everything… well, the fact that he stole the Mona Lisa scares me a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t sell a painting as famous as the Mona Lisa, and Neal isn’t stupid enough to hold it for ransom. So why’d he steal it?”

The sudden sadness in El’s eyes showed Peter that she understood.

“He misses everyone, doesn’t he?”

Peter sighed, wrapping an arm around El and looking up at the ceiling.

“I don’t think it’s ever been just about the money with him. I think he likes the chase just as much, if not more, than me. That’s why he didn’t steal jewels he could melt down or money from a high-security vault. I think he’s stuck between wanting… well, if we go with your analogy, he’s stuck between wanting everything he touches to be gold, and ‘food.’ But gold doesn’t have any real sustenance, like food… like family and friends. I think the chase is, in his eyes, the best way for him to get the best of both worlds. His gold is adrenaline, and his food is us.”

El nodded, her eyes blue in every way they could be.

“So how can you help him?”

Peter looked down at El, and they were both surprised by how unflinchingly quick he answered.

“I’m going to bring him home.”

That’s right. Neal had been changing, slowly but surely, before the incident with the Panthers. Working with Peter gave him family, and chasing other smart criminals had given him the thrill. Plus, if they finally got the anklet off, Neal would get paid. He’d get the three things he wanted most. Or so Peter thought—even though he knew Neal better than anyone, he still wasn’t sure what exactly Neal really wanted. But that could be because Neal himself didn’t know.

“ _We’re_ going to bring him home.”

Peter looked down at his wife and now they both smiled, the sadness slowly leaving their eyes. Baby Neal was their biological son, but Neal Caffrey was a son they’d adopted into their hearts, for better or for worse. Whatever it took, they’d bring their son home.

**ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

“So who’s our competition?”

Peter was on his way to Paris one week later, and somehow almost everyone he’d spoken to in his office last week was on the plane. Diana and Jones had insisted on coming with him the next week, and Hughes had no qualms about taking over a week earlier—retirement seemed to bore him. El sat beside him, bouncing baby Neal on her lap and pretending she wasn’t listening to confidential information. Diana and Jones sat together, Diana holding her rapidly growing three year old with one hand as she opened files with her other.

“I thought you said this wasn’t a competition?”

Jones raised an eyebrow, but the smile he wore said he’d never truly believed catching Mona Lisa’s thief was anything other than a competition. Peter heard a snort near the back, but when he turned all he caught of Alex Hunter was the top of her head as she ducked it behind the seat. She was adamant about not talking to Feds, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t apt to eavesdrop on them. Whether or not she would relay the information to Neal was a mystery; Alex was a wild card in this mix.

“You Special Agents and your competitions.”

The voice drifted back from first class, and Peter didn’t need to go up past the fancy curtain to know it was June speaking. He let out a sigh, gesturing for Diana to get on with it. Diana bounced her Theo on her knee as she handed the file to Jones, who held it open so Diana could read from it.

“Four other teams besides ours, each with three people. Let’s see… the first is, of course, from Paris. Looks like their team is headed by a woman, and not the kind that would fall under a con _man_ ’s spell.”

Peter chuckled a little.

“Is she cute?”

Diana’s grin was all Peter needed. They didn’t have Neal, so they couldn’t get information from the other teams the way they used to, but Diana could be seductive when she wanted to. A woman who knew all the ropes and would probably have the best info on the case was good to have on your side. Peter knew he could count on Diana to get the woman on their side.

“Next is another team from France, looks like Marseille’s equivalent to us. Honest, hardworking, even have a CI. The only difference is that the Jones of their group is Asian, and he’s the non-straight one of the three. Well, that and the CI has a set of killer tits even Caffrey couldn’t replicate.”

The mention of Neal had everyone quiet for a second. His name came up often even now—at least twice a day, most times in jokes. If Neal had really died, it might’ve bothered Peter, but he could see this was how Jones and Diana were doing their best to remember him. For all his flaws, he’d been the best damn CI anyone had seen.

“Oh… this is scary. For the thief, anyway.”

Peter raised an eyebrow and even Elizabeth paused to turn her head a little.

“What is?”

“Seems the Italians sent their best team from Milan. Known affiliations with the Italian mafia… hm. They’re brutal. They’ve killed more criminals than they’ve put away, and they always get away with it because they’re so good at what they do. I don’t know about you, but I’d put money on the fact that Italy sent them here to get the painting. Wouldn’t surprise me if the thief’s body ended up in a French gutter and the next time the Mona Lisa resurfaced was in an Italian art gallery.”

Dammit, Neal. Elizabeth’s face was smooth as she murmured to their son, laughing as he giggled, but Peter could tell from the tension in her shoulders that this piece of news was as concerning to her as it was to him. Catching criminals was a lot easier when you didn’t play by the book. Now he’d have to work on finding Neal even faster.

“And the last team… oh my God.”

Even Jones seemed surprised at the look on Diana’s face, as he leaned down to look at the file. His eyes widened and it seemed like he was unsure whether to be happy or upset. Diana glanced up at Peter almost worriedly. Elizabeth, who had been doing her best not to pay attention, now leaned over in interest.

“Is it someone we know?”

Jones nodded slowly as Diana just shook her head, wondering if this was some sort of joke the French were playing on them.

“I don’t know her very well, but remember that girl you had transferred out because of her obsession with Caffrey?”

Peter accepted the file Jones handed him. Sure enough, a familiar face with daring brown eyes and lips quirked up as if they knew a secret you didn’t stared back at him. He drew in a sharp breath as Elizabeth rubbed his shoulder, not bothering to hide her concern this time. He team figured it was because it would be awkward to meet with a woman he’d had transferred out, but it was much more than that. Neal was in way more trouble than Peter could’ve imagined.

“Lauren Cruz.”

The one person other than Peter who had the potential to capture the great Neal Caffrey.

**ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

“Isn’t it beautiful, hon?”

El had one arm through Peter’s, while Peter’s other arm was occupied by baby Neal. Who, for the record, was growing heavier every day.

The house they stood in front of really was beautiful, though. It was on the corner of a cobblestone street, and it was small enough to be modest while still being large enough for a family. Vines wrapped around window ledges, giving the bay brick a hint of personality, while bright red flowers situated on either side of the door brightened everything up. As nice as it was, however, Peter didn’t want to stand outside all night admiring it. The flight had been eight hours long, which meant eight hours of worrying about both Neals (his son got grouchy because he couldn’t sleep on the plane).

“It is. I mean, not as beautiful as my sexy wife, but still, it’s nice.”

El planted a kiss on his cheek and removed her arm from his to grab two suitcases while Peter grabbed the third. Once inside, Peter realized he would really, really like it here. It had a gorgeous interior, and though Peter wasn’t too excited about the interior, El was and that made it fantastic. After all, a happy wife made for a happy life.

The owners had already left, so Peter and El made themselves at home, setting up Neal’s crib and putting him down before changing to go to bed themselves. It was a long night of tossing and turning—the time difference through Peter’s senses off, so when he woke up, he wasn’t the best of moods. And his mood only soured from a knock on the door at a very, very early time.

“I’ve got it, hon.”

El yawned and rolled out of bed—she’d slept much better and she knew time changes messed with Peter’s strict sleeping schedule. She padded out of the room and Peter heard her walking down the stairs quietly. It was only when he heard her undoing locks on the door that he realized it could be someone unsavoury—although the part of Paris they were staying in looked nice, it was possible it had shady characters in it. He quickly got out of bed, creeping downstairs slowly, cursing the fact that he hadn’t brought a bat. When El opened the door to reveal who stood behind it, Peter froze; yes, it most certainly was an unsavoury character.

“Good morning, ma’am, my name is Dante Haversham and I was wondering if you were interested in buying a security camera blocker. The government puts cameras in TVs now, so I’d be happy to install one for you so you can speak freely without fear of government ear.”

A familiar face smiled up at Elizabeth, and Peter let out a sigh, relaxing, as his wife’s face grew excited and she opened the door wider to let him in.

“Mozzie! It’s great to see you!”

Mozzie froze and looked over his shoulder, his eyes flitting up and down the empty cobblestone streets before he quickly shambled through the door and shut it, shaking his head.

“Mrs. Suit, I was using an alias because I heard Angry Jerry is in town. You’re lucky no one was around; you almost blew my cover. Even though there could still be bugs everywhere…”

Mozzie paused dramatically, frowning in annoyance, and gestured for both Peter and Elizabeth to be quiet while he pulled one of his many odd contraptions out of his bag and started checking the place for bugs. Every time Peter or El tried to speak, he’d hold up a warning hand and hold a finger to his lips. Peter grew increasingly annoyed as El grew increasingly amused, until finally, when Mozzie was satisfied that the house was bug-free, Peter exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mozzie? You can’t just walk into my house this early and start checking for bugs! Are you insane? Some people actually like their sleep!”

Mozzie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as El covered her mouth and tried to hold back giggles.

“Suit, I know what you want to ask me about and that stuff is highly classified information. I can’t just walk in and blow covers. Besides, baby Neal shouldn’t grow up surrounded by bugs—it might make him paranoid. Imagine if you or I had grown up around bugs? It would be terrible.”

Peter grumbled under his breath as Mozzie headed straight for the fridge, opening it up and smiling happily at the expensive bottle of wine Peter had bought to drink with El as a ‘welcome to Paris’ gift. He took it out and started rooting around in the cupboard for glasses. Peter wanted to say something, but he felt like anything he could say at this point was futile. El would just laugh and Mozzie would end up drinking the wine anyway.

“Alright, Mozzie, sure. You can come in and drink our wine. But only if you tell me one thing… how did he do it?”

Mozzie had poured the wine and was now sipping it, but at Peter’s remark he choked, his eyes wide as he looked at Peter.

“Oh no. You’re still living in the illusion that the greatest conman of our century is still alive, aren’t you? Suit, I’m sorry to have to do this, but… Neal is dead. Ask Mrs. Suit, she’ll tell you.”

Mozzie had only gotten out two glasses out and now he handed the second one to El, as she raised one eyebrow and looked at Peter. He pressed his lips together and nodded; yes, Mozzie knew. Mozzie had never said anything, but he’d disappeared after the wine bottle was left on Peter’s doorstep, plus here he was in Paris after a heist only Neal would dream of doing.

“We both know Neal’s alive, Mozzie, so there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

El’s smile was kind as Mozzie spluttered indignantly, shaking his head at the nerve she had. He was disappointed in Mrs. Suit for not going along with him, even if what she said was true. She had betrayed him. He took a long drink of the wine before turning back to Peter and nodding.

“Alright, Suit. You win this time. I haven’t been around enough and Mrs. Suit is starting to take your side again, but that will change eventually. As for your inquiry… that information is highly classified. You can do whatever you want, but I’ll never tell you. Even if you…”

Mozzie hesitated, looking like he was struggling with himself, before finally finishing his sentence.

“Even if you stop me from drinking wine, I’ll never tell.”

It looked like it physically pained Mozzie to say it, and Peter couldn’t help the amused grin that crossed his face, despite his grouchiness. That certainly was a sacrifice in Mozzie’s world, he supposed. He wondered for the hundredth time if Mozzie had known about Neal’s fake death con all along, but there was no point in asking because Mozzie’s lips were sealed.

“It’s okay, Peter won’t do that. Will you, hon?”

Elizabeth’s warning look made Peter shake his head in concession. His wife liked Mozzie entirely too much, so torturing the information out of him by holding government conspiracies over his head wasn’t an option. Sadly.

“I have to get ready for work, I’m going to check out the scene of the _crime_ today.”

The pointed look he gave Mozzie was dutifully ignored.

“Go then, Suit. I’ll keep your wife and baby Neal company. I’m better company than you anyway.”

Mozzie still refused to look at Peter, childishly ignoring anything Peter said.

“Alright, Mozzie. It’s too bad you aren’t in contact with Neal though. If you were, you could tell him that not only is the Italian mafia—who have no qualms about killing con artists—after him, but Lauren Cruz is as well. Do you remember Lauren? The girl I transferred out because she had an obsession with Neal that was beginning to get out of hand even for him?”

Mozzie’s head slowly turned and the paleness in his face confirmed everything. He had never doubted for a second that the thief was anyone other than Neal, but this confirmation was like the icing on top of the cake. Peter couldn’t stop the satisfied smirk that crossed his face as Mozzie’s shoulders dropped, knowing he’d just given it away.

“ _If_ I was in contact with him, you can rest assured the message would be passed on. Now I just remembered an errand I have to run, but I’ll be back soon to keep you company, Mrs. Suit. I’ve already talked to Diana and I’ll be babysitting Theo, so I’ll bring him along tomorrow when my job starts. Remember, Haversham, not Mozzie.”

Mozzie left without another word, and judging by the quick nervousness in his step, he was going directly back to Neal. If he wasn’t the most paranoid man Peter had ever met, he’d try to follow him. El turned to Peter with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll report on how long it takes for him to get back so we can factor out the farther places. _You_ focus on finding out how Neal did it so you can bring him back safe and sound.”

Yet again, Peter was absolutely floored by how much love and respect he could feel for the woman he’d married. He shook his head and pulled her in for a kiss. He was truly the luckiest man alive.

**ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

“Agent Burke, very nice to meet you. You’re the last one to come, but no need to worry about that.”

The heavily accented voice suggested that maybe it was something he should worry about, and Peter internally sighed. The French wanted their own to solve the case, and he certainly understood that—if it were New York, he’d want the same—but they didn’t have to be so rude about it.

He’d been initially extremely impressed by the Louvre, the grand, stately building, the high security, the incredible art that decorated every wall. Yes, he could certainly imagine the look of stunned awe and excitement on Neal’s face. Neal must’ve been standing right where Peter was now, gazing at the Mona Lisa. Or, in this case, a possible replica of the Mona Lisa. The picture was much smaller than he’d always pictured, and when he examined it he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it was so highly praised over all the other paintings. Yes, it was nice, but… Well, he supposed he just didn’t have an artist’s appreciation for art.

“Tell me, why is there such a huge debate over why it was or wasn’t stolen?”

“Yes, of course. The thing is, this particular piece is flawless. We’ve done x-ray diffraction, and it shows that the paint is certainly from the 15th century. Ultraviolet fluorescence shows some newer painting over the elbow and in a few other places, but that paint is from the 18th or 19th century. Expected, as Jean-Marie Hooghstoel did a touch up in the 1800s, and Eugène Denizard and Jean-Gabriel Goulinat both did some touch-ups in the 1900s. Even the way the brush strokes line with a 15th century poplar wood is the same.”

Peter didn’t really understand much of what the curator was going on about, but he knew he didn’t have much time to deliberate or ask—the debate over whether it was real or not had even more people than usual coming to see it, and the curator had said he’d only close down this exhibit room for a maximum of twenty minutes.

“Okay. So then what makes people think it’s a replica?”

“The craquelure.”

Peter blinked rapidly, wondering if the curator had forgotten the English name for whatever it was he was trying to say.

“The… what?”

The curator didn’t bother to hide an annoyed sigh as he gestured Peter closer and indicated to the Mona Lisa’s left eye.

“You see?”

Peter leaned in, squinting. There were small cracks all over the painting, much to his surprise. He didn’t see how the one cutting horizontally through the woman’s left eye was any different, and he leaned back with a shrug. The curator mumbled something about ignorant Americans under his breath before he answered.

“There’s a crack through the pupil of the left eye. We held a private show for a well-known artist, who wishes to remain anonymous, and he noticed it first. The Mona Lisa never had a crack through her left pupil. In fact, the entire left iris and pupil were untouched by craquelure, these cracks you see here.”

Peter shook his head; it meant nothing to him.

“Can that not be caused by age?”

“Yes, of course. Italian craquelure is one of my personal favourites, as it usually perpendicular to the grain of the panel. In this case, however, it cut horizontally first, where it should’ve cut vertical. This could come from a flaw in the grain, but from our x-rays, there is no such flaw in Da Vinci’s grain. Therefore, this must have been painted on a flawed panel. As such, it is an extremely well-forged painting. Magnificent almost beyond Da Vinci himself, but still a forgery.”

Peter squinted at the eye again, but he still didn’t see how would affect anything. If Neal was still with him and hadn’t been the one to commit this crime, Peter wondered if Neal would’ve noticed. Perhaps not, since he didn’t notice the flaw in his own painting.

“I see.”

“The problem, Special Agent, is that people don’t often get close to the Mona Lisa. So we have no idea of knowing just how long it’s been a forgery.”

If it was Neal, Peter was sure he would’ve heard about the well-known artist coming to see the painting and planned it so that it would be noticed. Apparently the curator thought so too, as he let out a huffy breath and glared into the distance as if trying to burn a hole into the thief with his gaze.

“What we can figure out is that it was done within the last year. The person responsible could’ve waited for a vertical crack to form before he switched the two, but he didn’t. And I _am_ sure that he knew about the flaw—there’s no way any panel could have a flaw that small that just happened to be right underneath the left eye. Anywhere else and the flaw would be impossible to notice, but the Mona Lisa is known for having lovely, clear eyes.”

It was so typically subtle and so typically Neal that Peter had to stifle a laugh. He could’ve gotten away with stealing one of the most famous paintings in the world, but he’d just had to add in the smallest of flaws as if to mock everyone. One tiny horizontal crack in the eye of what would soon be considered the best forgery of all… that was Neal’s signature on this one. The curator glared at him, thinking Peter was laughing at him. Peter had a feeling he wouldn’t receive a warm welcome back, but that was okay. Neal’s real trail would be elsewhere. He’d have to piece together what had happened and where Neal was before he came back to figure out how Neal had switched them out.

“Thank you, Monsieur. You’ve been very helpful in our investigation.”

Peter could’ve asked about whether or not the curator knew a blue eyed charmer, but he had a feeling the curator would be reporting everything he asked to the teams from France, so he decided against it. The curator nodded shortly and led Peter out of the room, a huge smile coming over his face as they went out into the more public place and the curator reopened the Mona Lisa exhibit. Well, now that he’d learned what he could here, it was time to go and meet the teams he’d be competing against in this race to find the Mona Lisa.

**ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

“Peter.”

Peter could tell from the tightness in Diana’s voice as she greeted him that she was very, very annoyed. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out why—the atmosphere in Paris’s white collar crime division was frigid. They were all in the huge, expansive office of the lead investigator of Paris’s team, waiting for the woman to come back from wherever she was. Apparently Paris’ team still had to keep working on other cases even through this one.

Peter looked around, frowning. His office wasn’t this large, and it never would be. Of course, Paris had an incredible amount of art and it seemed like a classier city than New York, so there was probably more white collar crime in it. As his eyes ran over the room, they were suddenly caught by dark, intense eyes that held a scary amount of hatred. Peter swallowed, wondering why the Italian man was glaring so heatedly at him. The other two on his team were glaring at Diana and Jones, and it made his entire team uncomfortable. Their eyes weren’t the kind of eyes most agents had—they were more like the kind sadistic, brilliant criminals had.

“Don’t worry, they’ve been glaring at everyone like that. You’re just the latest to walk in so you’re the latest to get it.”

Jones’ whisper somehow didn’t do much to settle Peter’s nerves. Never mind criminals, these guys looked ready to kill other agents if they had to. Peter would have to tread extremely carefully around them.

“Désolé, I was dealing with a man who was trying to stuff a van Gogh up his ass.”

A petite blonde woman blazed in, and the entire atmosphere changed from one of tension and nervousness to a more professional atmosphere. As small as she was, she had an… aura. One that demanded respect and no nonsense. Her voice was even more heavily accented than the curator’s had been, but her tone was clear. She expected to be obeyed and she expected everyone to act like mature adults. There was no joking around in her office.

She reached her desk and settled primly into her seat, turning to face them, adjusting the stylish glasses she wore over thick lashed blue eyes. If she wasn’t so businesslike, Peter thought her trendy attire and beauty would make her look like a Barbie. He glanced at Diana out of the corner of his eye and wasn’t surprised to see her lick her lips a little. That was the woman she’d have to pull a Caffrey on, and that woman was one fine piece of ass.

“Now that you’ve been to the Louvre, I believe we can say with certainty that the painting is a forgery, oui?”

There wasn’t a single protest in the room, and the woman nodded in satisfaction.

“Bon. I am Special Agent Alice Dupont, and I am pleased to work with you. At this point, I imagine no one would like to work with anyone other than their own team, so do as you will. Every week we will come together for a report. What you choose to share is up to you. Any questions?”

She was smart as a whip, Peter would give her that. Not making everyone work together was a smart choice—everyone would only try to get in each other’s ways. Plus, he certainly didn’t want to work within a hundred mile radius of the Italian team, though knowing how close they were to Neal would’ve been nice. He looked around the room to gauge everyone else’s reactions to the news, and his eyes froze on another pair that watched him with mild curiosity. Lauren Cruz.

“I have a question, Agent… Dupont?”

Diana had her hand up and Peter took the chance to turn his gaze away from the young woman whose gaze continuously burned a hole into his back.

“We’re all adults, oui? You may call me Alice.”

Diana’s smile made Peter feel like everyone should leave the room and give Diana some time alone with the blonde woman. The curious, alert way Alice looked at her made it obvious Alice was interested too. Good for Diana, Peter thought. Even if she couldn’t get any information, it would probably still be nice for her to date again. Since she’d had Theo, she’d barely seen anyone at all.

“Alright, Alice. If we have any questions or concerns, I was wondering how we could reach you.”

“Diana, was it? I’m not in my office often, but I always have my cellphone with me. I’ll give you a card. Anyone else need one?”

As Diana went up to accept Alice’s number, Peter noticed the way their fingers brushed just briefly. Diana was _good_. He would’ve been even more amused if Lauren wasn’t watching him with the eyes of a hawk.

“I’d like to screw her six ways to Sunday.”

Peter bit back a laugh as Diana sat back down in the chair beside him. Her kid certainly hadn’t taken her more-vulgar-than-most-men quips away from her.

He grew more serious as Alice stood up and dismissed them, and he noticed that while everyone else left the office, the three Italian men didn’t. Alice had her two team members with her, so he was sure the Italian team wouldn’t try anything, but it still bothered him as he wondered what they may be talking to her about. But he didn’t have much time to worry, as Lauren Cruz approached him with a friendly smile. He swallowed and tried his best to smile back, though he was sure it ended up looking more constipated than anything.

“Agent Burke, it’s been a while.”

Lauren extended her hand and Peter shook it firmly, feeling sweat gather on the back of his neck as she shook hands with Diana and Jones. Her eyes flicked back to his and he could feel her searching for something in them. Her next words confirmed what she’d been looking for.

“Is Neal Caffrey really dead?”

The question wasn’t one she expected Peter to answer truthfully with his talking; she expected an answer through his body language. He’d never been a fantastic actor, but Neal had told him the best lies were ones with some truth, so he dug deep to the part of him that still felt the pain of Neal’s death as if it had happened yesterday. Logically, he knew Neal wasn’t dead, but that didn’t mean any of the pain he’d felt would just up and disappear. Besides, he still couldn’t fully relax until he saw his friend’s grinning, living face again.

“Yes.”

The weight in Peter’s voice wasn’t faked, and he was surprised that his throat was beginning to ache as if he wanted to cry. No tears came, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in pain. His thoughts flashed back to the body he’d seen lying in the morgue, the coldness and silence that inhabited a body once of full of life and laughing. He swallowed thickly, and then Diana and Jones stepped in, both of them with eyes like flint.

“It’s over, Agent Cruz. There’s no need to bring Neal up anymore.”

Lauren gave Peter one more glance then let out a tired sigh and nodded as if satisfied with Peter’s answer. He couldn’t be completely sure she’d believed him, but he was pretty sure she had judging from the disappointment on her face.

“Sorry, it’s just Agent Burke is the only one I’ll really believe about it. This case reminds me of him so I just thought… No, never mind. I’ll see you around.”

Lauren gave them a quick nod before going back to her own team. As her team was about to leave, the three Italian men went up to them and started talking. It disturbed Peter and he motioned for Diana and Jones to follow as he exited the building.

“Don’t worry about her. She just wanted to confirm it.”

Peter shrugged off Jones’s words of comfort; Neal was alive. He shoved the pain away. But now that he knew it was still there, he wondered how he’d react when he saw Neal. He wasn’t sure if he’d punch the kid, laugh and hug him, or burst into tears. He’d just have to catch him and see. When they were out of the building, Peter deliberated yet again whether or not he should tell Diana and Jones about Neal’s death being faked. It would certainly be a shock to them to see the former CI waltzing down the streets of Paris again, but Peter couldn’t work up the nerve just yet. Soon.

“Let me fill you in on the details of the theft.”

Peter turned and began explaining why the Mona Lisa was fake. Diana and Jones listened intently, nodding and asking minimal questions. He couldn’t imagine having better teammates. When he was done, Jones let out a low whistle.

“Sorry, Peter, but I have to agree with Agent Cruz. This _does_ sound like something Caffrey would do. Diana and I didn’t say anything, but we both noticed Neal’s old girlfriend in the back and June Ellington in the front. I don’t want to question you but… are you sure Caffrey didn’t pull another con and fake his own death?”

Diana, who had always been sensitive about mentioning Neal in front of Peter, now gave up trying to be delicate and looked Peter full in the face, waiting. Peter drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t going to tell them before, but now that they’d asked him he couldn’t just blatantly lie. He would have to tell them.

“Neal is—”

“Agent Burke.”

The voice sent shivers down Peter’s spine as he turned to come face-to-face with the leader of the Italian white collar team. The man was dressed immaculately, suit crisp and white undershirt starched so it gleamed. He was handsome, but his attractiveness was closer to the attractiveness of a Venus flytrap to a fly than Neal’s easy charm. He looked young, at least ten years younger than the men who stood beside him, who were both immaculate and sharp-looking. The oldest one looked about sixty, but he looked strongest out of the three and Peter could see a sick humour lurking in his eyes. The other who stood beside the older man was probably in his late thirties, and though at first glance he looked friendly, there was something… off about him.

“I’m Raphael.”

The leader spoke first. The older man was next.

“Don.”

The third man let out a laugh at Peter’s nervous look as he spoke.

“Silvio.”

Peter smoothed his face and gave his best friendly smile, holding out a hand.

“I’m Agent Peter Burke, this is Agent Diana Berrigan, and this is Agent Clinton Jones. It’s nice to meet you.”

The dry, warm hand that clasped his squeezed just a little too hard to be comfortable, as Raphael nodded in lukewarm greeting. As everyone shook hands, Peter glanced around surreptitiously and cursed the fact that he was off of the main road. It may be illogical due to the fact that they were Agents just like him, but he was exceptionally uncomfortable being in an alley with men who looked like they’d sooner gut you than shake your hand. And since they’d already got the handshaking out of the way, Peter wondered if that was what would come next.

“I’ll cut to the point.”

The fact that every word out of Raphael’s mouth sounded like a knife threat did nothing to ease Peter’s worries.

“If you find the criminal who stole the Mona Lisa, deliver them to us and we’ll pay you one billion dollars.”

Peter’s eyes widened marginally and for a second he was speechless.

“What about the Mona Lisa herself?”

Diana thankfully cut in for him, even her voice a little shaky. Raphael barely gave her a second glance; he kept his eyes on Peter’s the entire time he answered.

“It would be nice, but the Mona Lisa belongs to France. She can stay just like she is now. All we want is the criminal.”

Peter realized what they really wanted before Diana or Jones had a chance to speak. They wanted Neal’s forgery skills. After all, he’d made a perfect forgery of the Mona Lisa that only failed at inspection because he wanted it to. If they got Neal, they could create flawless forgeries of any painting they wanted, and with their pull he was sure they’d have a way to steal the original and replace it with a forgery. Neal would never go for it—the only person he worked for was himself. If anyone did deliver Neal, he’d be worse than dead. They’d probably torture him until he relented. Peter realized his hands were shaking and he repeatedly curled them in and out of fists to calm himself.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. That would be going against the law.”

Peter spoke calmly, rationally, and the smiling thirty year old Italian suddenly stopped smiling. It took everything Peter had not to leap back when the man took a step forward. It was ridiculous, being scared of a man younger than him, but some sort of animal instinct told him he should be. Raphael held out a hand with a warning ‘Silvio’ before turning back to Peter with a venomous smile.

“Very well, we understand. Either way, I’m sure we can work out some sort of deal with Alice. I’d just like to remind you that we’ll give you one billion dollars, and since the person who did this will end up in our hands anyway, giving them straight to us will be more beneficial. Thank you for your time, Agent Burke. Arrivederci.”

Don gave a wiggle of his fingers as Raphael walked past them, and Silvio gave them a vicious grin that rose every hair on Peter’s body. Silvio was undoubtedly the torturer of the bunch. Those three were crazy, and they had the entire Italian mafia behind them. Yet again, things like this were happening.

“Every single time, Neal.”

Peter’s voice was quiet enough for Diana and Jones not to catch it. Speaking of the two, he wondered if they were still curious about Neal’s ‘demise.’ But when he glanced back, they both looked shaken. Until Diana slowly and deliberately raised her middle finger at their disappearing backs, releasing the tension in the air so that they could all breathe again through their laughs. Oh well. He’d have time to tell them later. As long as he told them before they caught up with Neal.

**ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

June opened the front door to her villa, humming to herself as she dragged in two oversized, full suitcases across the marble floor. She inhaled deeply and smiled; Byron’s cologne still hung in the air and it did wonders for her sinuses. She continued pulling the suitcases up the stairs with a surprising strength, dragging them all the way to the master bedroom. It had been so long since she’d last been here, but everything was just the way it had been.

To really get a feel for how familiar it was, she wanted to take a small tour. Maybe see if the million dollars Byron had stored inside the guest bedroom’s bedpost was still there, collecting dust. Not that she needed it; it was just nice to reminisce. She made her way down the hall, her hand resting softly on the wall, which had collected a lot of dust, until she got to the guest bedroom. It was dark, but there was something… not right. The door was open and the handle was smudged with fingerprints in the dust. She barely hesitated to pull a tiny can of pepper spray out of her pocket—Byron had always said to be prepared.

Her fingers found the light switch easily as she held the can out in front of her, more annoyed than afraid. If whoever had broken in was still there, he’d get a piece of her whether he was armed or not. She flicked the light on, her finger already pressing down and ready to spray at the first sign of movement. When she saw a figure laying on something on the floor, she almost did, too. But the fedora and pleasantly surprised smile that was directed at her stopped her.

“Neal?”

Neal Caffrey lay on the floor. Or, to be more accurate, he lay on top of one hundred million dollars on the floor.

“June!”

Neal laughed at the pepper spray as he stood up, walking over to wrap June in a familiar hug. The can of pepper spray dropped to the ground as June blinked in shock, then began wrapped her arms around Neal, patting him on the back with a throaty chuckle.

“Neal Caffrey, you almost had me fooled.”

Neal’s laugh was delighted as he leaned back and kissed June on the cheek the way a fond son would kiss his mother.

“Impossible. Byron’s wife isn’t fooled by any con.”

June swatted Neal on the arm, a mock look of indignation on her face.

“That’s why I said _almost_.”

The two laughed together, still thick as thieves even though they hadn’t spoken in two years. June had had her suspicions, and Mozzie had confirmed them with a message from Neal in the form of Byron’s favourite fedora on her doorstep before he left to join Neal in Paris. Neal hadn’t been able to resist alleviating some of the heartbreak he’d left behind; he didn’t like hurting people but the life of freedom and conning called to him. Besides, the Panthers still had contacts even though they were put away, and he hadn’t wanted to put his friends in danger.

“Please tell me you didn’t get that money from selling her. Tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

Neal grinned and moved to stand beside June, wrapping an arm around her and gesturing grandly. On the far wall which she hadn’t seen when she’d first walked in, a painting of a demure woman with her hands folded in her lap seemed to be looking just past them, to something neither of them could see. Or maybe Neal could see it. The way his eyes sparkled suggested it. June’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth, looking up at Neal.

“Is that…?”

Neal laughed lightly and nodded, taking June’s arm and leading her up to the painting like a gentleman. June looked over the painting in amazement, reaching out to run her hand a couple inches through the air above it, not quite touching it.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’s been my company for the past six months.”

June shook her head, a smile breaking out across her face as she hit Neal playfully on the shoulder.

“You’re a sly one, but Peter knows about the villa. You’ll have to move it. And… all of this.”

She gestured to the money piled in neat stacks on the ground, her eyebrow raised.

“How did you get all of this anyway?”

Neal glanced over his shoulder at the money with a shrug and a wink.

“I know, I’ve got something planned. I just wanted to sleep on a pile of money and I figured this was the safest place to do it. Nice trip wire trap, by the way, I almost didn’t see it.”

June laughed and pulled out a silk handkerchief to lift a wad of bills from the pile, flipping through them. They were, surprisingly, all completely real, not a single counterfeit. Her look of respect and approval earned a thumbs up from Neal.

“Plausible deniability?”

“As far as anyone is concerned, I don’t even know you’re alive, let alone about all of this. I want the full details of this one.”

Neal nodded and moved to sit down on the pile of cash, picking up a random stack and flipping through it absentmindedly as he gestured for June to take a seat beside him. She happily obliged; Neal’s idea of literally sitting on a hundred million dollars was both amusing and ironic.

“I’ll tell you how I got this if you tell me if Peter’s son is really named after me. I mean, Moz showed me a birth certificate but it’s Moz so I still can’t tell if he was joking or not.”

June could see on his face that he’d tease Peter about it relentlessly, and she knew it would be better if she didn’t give him a reason to be even more arrogant.

“It’s true.”

Neal clapped slowly, shaking his head as his cockiest grin crossed his lips. Neal was a peach and Peter deserved his feathers being ruffled every now and then, considering the fact that he worked for the FBI. Besides, June didn’t feel like keeping secrets from Neal to help Peter—conmen looked out for one another over everything else.

“Speaking of, you should go visit baby Neal soon. I’m sure Peter wouldn’t mind you being a part of his life.”

The two shared a mischievous glance, and Neal ducked his head almost sheepishly.

“I already did. I gave him a gift, too, one he can use to piss Peter off when he’s older.”

“Oh my, what is it?”

“Plausible deniability?”

“Spill it.”

   **ღ** ***~*** **ღ** ***~*** **ღ**

Peter shrugged off his worries when he walked through the door, not wanting to worry El with them. He was surprised to find El pacing back and forth almost anxiously, but the look on her face was more anticipatory than anything.

“Hi, hon. What’s going on?”

El looked up, her face confused but slightly excited.

“Come with me.”

She took Peter’s hand and led him up the stairs. One glimpse of the kitchen told him Mozzie had been true to his word—two empty bottles of wine and three sippy cups sat on the counter, two of the cups filled with milk and the third filled with wine. Peter hoped to god that Mozzie wasn’t trying to train Theo or Neal to become expert wine tasters at their ages.

El lead him to baby Neal’s room and pointed silently, biting her bottom lip as if she wasn’t sure whether she should cry tears of happiness or be upset. Peter peered in and his heart skipped a beat as he saw his son giggling and waving something around. A plush toy of the Mona Lisa, hand sewn. Peter slowly walked across the room.

“Can I see that, buddy?”

Baby Neal shook it, his smile innocent. Peter reached out and caught Neal’s hand gently but he didn’t take the toy because Neal was already upset Peter wouldn’t let him shake it. It felt strange, rather hard as if there was something inside it. His hand touched paper and he frowned, gingerly removing a drool-coated piece of paper that had been tucked inside a pouch at the back of the plushie. When he released Neal’s hand, the toddler stuck the toy into his mouth, laughing.

“What is it?”

El stood on her toes to read over his shoulder, her lips quirking up as she recognized Peter’s handwriting so expertly forged Peter wondered briefly if he’d written it in his sleep.

_Hey Peter, this is for you because your kid probably can’t read yet. Is it true you guys named him after the greatest con artist in the world? That’s crazy! I love it, Peter. It’s fantastic. For the record, it was more about the Panthers than the chase, so I can’t let you catch me unless I know for sure their contacts are gone. Even then, though, the chase is still too fun to give up unless you make me. You might be wondering why I gave Neal Jr. a handmade toy. No need to worry about foreign fabrics—I made it myself and I bought the materials so it’s completely legal. Or I may be saying that so you can believe it is. In any case, it feels strange because I inserted one of the best lock pick sets money can buy in it._

Peter glanced up sharply, but Neal had such a tight clutch around the toy there was no way he’d be able to pry it from the chubby little fingers. He shook his head, trying hard not to smile.

 

_Don’t worry, all of the picks are wrapped up so they can’t hurt him or cut through the material until he’s old enough to know what to do with them. It’s for straight laced stuff. Like getting into his own house if he locks himself out accidentally. Or getting into yours when you lock him out on purpose. Ha. I’d like to see you again, but I’m in a difficult position. On one hand, I don’t think you’ll rat me out, but on the other, Haversham has researched those Italian guys and they’re bad news. I know you won’t lead them to me on purpose, but I’m sure you’ll want me to return what’s ‘lost’ and I can’t do that. So come and catch me if you want to change my mind. I’ll be waiting._

_-James Bonds_

_P.S.- say hi to Mom for me_

El hugged Peter happily, letting out an ‘Aw.’ Damn. She was supposed to be mad at Neal along with Peter, but he was working his magic even through a letter. Somehow, it didn’t make Peter mad, though. It was his first real contact with Neal since the fake death fiasco, and it made his heart that much lighter.

“Un… Nee…”

Peter and El turned to baby Neal in surprise. They’d been worried that he wasn’t developing fast enough, because at nearly two years old he hadn’t so much as said ‘Ma’ or ‘Pa,’ though he could march around like a little trooper on two feet when they let him out of his play pen. The doctors assured them all kids developed differently, but they were still worried. The point was, this was the first time Neal was speaking.

“Unc… Nee…”

Peter started shaking his head as Elizabeth’s eyes lit up and she started laughing hysterically.

“No, don’t tell me.”

“Unc… Nee!”

_Uncle Neal._

  
 

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to do some research but I'm by no means an expert on this stuff so for the most part I'm winging it. If it seems unrealistic, sorry, but I don't have the resources the creators of the show had (like... a real life conman holy smokes I wish). I'll be adding some more OCs in there so I'm sorry if you don't like OCs. It's just that I imagine there'd be new characters if the show started back up again, so I'm putting some in. I promise I'll do my best to make them more than cardboard cutouts, but sorry if they're shit.
> 
> Also, yes, I'm Canadian, sorry for saying sorry so much.


End file.
